


how to be a better friend

by writing_words



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bi Dean Winchester, Gay Castiel, Getting Together, He Is So Patient, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Dean Winchester, Pining, Tired Sam Winchester, dean is oblivious, dean is repressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29968386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_words/pseuds/writing_words
Summary: Cas comes out, and Dean just wants to be a good friend.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 151





	how to be a better friend

**Author's Note:**

> the best part of this fic was taken from : https://donnasweett.tumblr.com/post/644850891260821504/i-think-it-wouldve-fucked-with-deans-head-so
> 
> i have about five other fic ideas, so if u tolerate my writing, pls stick around. i somehow have a knack for just not creating for fandoms until the media sustaining it is over. could not tell u if they are in character, the only person who would proof read has not seen supernatural and does not know the characters. anyway. enjoy, hopefully

Dean is happy. A rare and unsettling occurrence, he leans forward over the sticky bar table, passing his beer between his hands, and offering a smile to his best friend. Cas raises his eyebrow, and doesn’t exactly smile back, but it’s a close thing. Dean’s smile widens. He can enjoy this for as long as it lasts, he thinks. He’s only just full, comfortably so, with the possibility of being tempted by the ‘house dessert’ on the menu. Sam is sat beside him, peeling the sticker off of his beer, trying to get it off in one try. 

‘That was a good day,’ Dean says, to both of them. It was. Case solved without casualties. That’s always a good thing. Sam nods beside him, still focused on his sticker. 

‘Yeah,’ Sam agrees, and his face is a little pink with his drink, and then his sticker finally comes loose in one full piece, and he frowns at it with suspicion. ‘Did we pick up a lucky object or something?’

Dean snorts, watching as Sam starts creasing the edges of label into some sort of origami shaped figure. 

‘I’m going to be optimistic and say we deserve a good hunt,’ Cas says, and he’s still not fully smiling, but he sounds pleased all the same. 

Dean likes that. _We_ . He likes that Cas considers himself part of a _we_ , part of his _we,_ and yeah, maybe he’s a little tipsy. He can still drive, though, so it’s fine. 

‘Speaking of optimistic,’ Dean says, and claps his hand on Cas’s shoulder, hard enough that Cas’s hand jerks from where it rests on the table, ‘I think you have a shot with the brunette bartender.’

Cas turns his head, his expression more of curiosity than interest, and his eyes land on a pretty brunette woman with dark eye makeup wiping down the bar. She happens to glance up at the same moment, and she sends a smile their way. Cas’s hand fumbles with his beer, still mostly full, and he turns his attention back the table. The bartender smiles at his back, and Dean makes eye contact with her and gestures for two more beers. She nods and says something to her coworker, an older woman with graying hair. Dean’s hand drops back to Cas’s shoulder.

‘Hey, something quick before we take off,’ Dean suggests, his thumb rubbing back and forth where it rests at the nape of Cas’s neck, and Cas shrugs, not hard enough to knock Dean’s hand away. 

‘She’s not really my type,’ he says at last, and Dean rolls his eyes. Of course. Leave it to Cas to be unreasonably picky. 

Before he can voice as much, the bartender is standing in front of them, tapping light fingers on their table before dropping two beers down. ‘This alright?’

‘Yeah, great,’ Dean says, and not so subtly shoves his hand harder against Cas’s neck, who clears his throat and smiles at the bartender. 

‘Thank you,’ he says, even though the second beer is for Sam, and the bartender blinks once, and then smiles and walks away with a nod. 

‘Dude,’ Dean says, looking at Cas with raised eyebrows once the bartender is far enough away. ‘She would totally go for you!’

‘I just said she isn’t my type,’ Cas says, pushing one of the new beer bottles into Dean’s free hand. 

‘Oh yeah, uh huh, she’s a dead ringer for Meg, but she’s not your type,’ Dean says, almost teasing. He tips his new bottle towards Cas, foam spilling from the mouth of it to drip towards his fingers, and continues. ‘Humor me, then. Who is your type?’ And swings his beer up to his lips. 

After a moment, without any recognizable hesitation, Cas says, ‘Men.’ And then sips his own beer as Dean’s mouth falls open. 

‘Did– wait, you– what?’

‘He said men,’ Sam supplies finally looking up to grab his new beer. Dean feels both hands squeeze, and then realizes one of those hands is still on Cas’s shoulder, and he jerks back, very obviously. 

‘Right, okay, uh, sorry,’ he says, and then, ‘didn’t mean to assume.’

‘It’s fine,’ Cas says, and that hint of a smile has faded a little, and Dean feels kind of horrible. 

‘No, I mean, yeah, you’re right, it’s fine, I just, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’

Cas rolls his eyes slightly and then looks directly at Dean. ‘Dean, please.’

Dean takes it as a plea for him to shut the fuck up, so he does. He looks down at his beer, now clasped by two hands. Foam drips down the side toward his right hand, and Dean can feel the beer he spit out? dribbled out? on his lip. He can’t really remember how it got there. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. And then he says, ‘Right.’

‘We should get going,’ Sam says, suddenly, looking up. ‘We checked out of the hotel.’

Dean blinks at his brother. Right. They need to drive back to the bunker tonight. He knew that.

He’s very tempted to chug the rest of his beer. But something about it feels weird, now. He takes a sip, and he is very aware of Cas watching him, and why is he thinking about that? Foam on his lips, he is very aware of everything. He takes the sip and then puts the bottle back down. Thinks about finishing it, but feels to nervous to touch it again. Dean stands to settle the tab. He tells himself that if he finishes, he won’t be fit to drive. That’s true, right?

‘I’ll meet you at the car,’ Dean says, passing the keys to Sam. He knocks his knuckles on the table, and then claps a hand on Cas’s shoulder as he rounds the table and heads for the bar. He does it without thinking, but his hand feels awkward as he drops it back down to his side. 

‘We’re heading out,’ Dean says to the bartender, The Bartender, as he approaches, and she nods, meeting him at the till. They’re silent as she punches the correct numbers, and then she asks, ‘Cash or card?’

‘Cas, uh, cash,’ Dean says. She nods, and then he’s digging into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash he won playing pool two nights ago. 

‘Sorry about that, by the way,’ The Bartender says, with an apologetic smile as she takes the cash.

‘What,’ Dean asks, hands still awkward.

‘That,’ she says, unhelpfully, with a vague nod towards the table Dean has abandoned. ‘I didn’t realize.’

‘Right,’ Dean agrees, still unsure as to what she’s talking about. She hands him his change, and then raises her eyebrows. 

‘Is your brother single,’ she asks, and Dean frowns. Maybe she did hear Cas say he liked men. Because Cas likes men.

‘We’re, uh, leaving town tonight.’

‘Right,’ she agrees, looking vaguely disappointed. And with that, Dean heads outside. 

The Impala is parked in the back of the parking lot to avoid the attention of law enforcement, which means Dean gets to enjoy the cool air for about two minutes. A chance to sober up. A chance to calm the fuck down, so what if Cas is gay, how does that change anything? It doesn’t, Dean tells himself firmly. It doesn’t. That’s just Cas, his best friend, who he will love and support through everything. Well, not everything. If he goes power crazy and tries to consume all the souls in Purgatory again, maybe not. 

Actually, maybe. The more Dean thinks about Cas then, the more he thinks Cas was absolutely justified. 

Shouldn’t have lied to him though. 

Dean is nearly to the car, and he repeats in his head, firmly, that it doesn’t change anything. He almost believes it. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t. 

Then he’s sliding into the driver’s seat, undoing his stupid FBI suit jacket so he can shrug out of the thing, and Cas is holding his keys out to him. 

Cause Cas is in the passenger seat. 

‘Hi,’ Dean says, stupidly. Don’t be stupid in front of Cas, he’ll think you’re uncomfortable. 

‘Hello,’ Cas responds, voice low and loud in the silence of the car, and he’s got his near smile back. Dean nods once and takes his keys from his best friend. 

Sam is passed out in the backseat. 

‘Lightweight,’ Dean scoffs, starting the car, and apparently Sam isn’t asleep, cause he reaches forward with a blind hand to swat at the back of Dean’s head. It hits, and Dean winces. 

‘Are you okay to drive,’ Cas asks, and fuck, his voice really does take up the entire car. Dean has no where to hide. Why is he hiding? He isn’t. Cas is his best friend who he loves and supports. 

‘I’m great,’ Dean says, putting on his most charming smile as his loops his arm around the passenger seat to reverse carefully. Cas smiles back, a true smile, and Dean wonders why he deserves it. He feels bad. He’s done the arm around the passenger seat with plenty of flings before. God, fuck, is he flirting? Does Cas think he’s flirting, is that why he’s smiling? Dean pulls his arm back as quickly and subtly as he can and shifts gears. 

Nothing’s changed. It doesn’t change anything. 

The drive back home is nice. Sam starts snoring, and Dean relaxes into the driver’s seat, cause it’s good. The happiness continues. Sam is sleeping. He is driving. Cas is there, keeping easy company, and Dean knows he keeps glancing over a few times an hour, but it’s habit. He has to double check. 

‘Yes,’ Cas asks, suddenly, when Dean looks, and his hands grip tighter on the wheel. 

‘Nothing,’ Dean says, facing forward again. 

‘You keep looking,’ Cas says, as if Dean isn’t aware. 

‘I’m always looking,’ Dean says, and oops that sounds like flirting. But Cas lets out a noise, almost like a laugh, so it must be fine. 

‘Just nice having you here,’ Dean says a few moments later, and he can feel Cas staring at him, but he isn’t flirting. Being honest isn’t flirting. He’s never honest with his hookups. 

‘Hmmm,’ Cas says, and it sounds like agreement, and then they’re both watching the road and the silence settles back in. Dean isn’t aware of anything except the road. And Sam’s breathing. And Cas’s hands resting on his own thighs. Things he’s always aware of. The easy stuff. 

The comfort is broken when they get back to the bunker. It’s freezing cold. It’s fucking freezing, and Sam lets out a sigh as he disappears into the bowels of their home to sort the problem. Dean and Cas head to the bedrooms, Dean’s duffel hitting against his back awkwardly. 

‘Bet you wish you had someone to keep you company tonight,’ Dean says, tired and unthinking, and then checks the wall with his hip as he rounds the corner and swears. 

‘What?’ Cas asks, but Dean’s pretty sure he heard. 

‘Like,’ Dean says, and doesn’t know how to explain making that comment to Cas. Because it was to Cas. There’s no one else around. If he said it to Sam, it would be some abstract concept, but saying it to Cas feels different. It feels like an offer. It’s not, cause he’s not flirting, but he still feels bad, like a coward. Or something.

Cas is looking at him curiously. Dean can feel his face is contorted in a wince, and he thinks it’s from running into the wall. ‘Cause, cold,’ he says, and Cas nods, like that explains anything. 

‘Goodnight, Dean,’ Cas says finally, after they’ve just been standing there, staring at each other. 

‘Yeah, uh, yeah, goodnight Cas,’ Dean says, after maybe a moment too long. ‘And, Cas, dude, uh, thanks for telling me. You know. I’ll keep that in mind.’

Cas smiles, a tired, full smile. ‘Okay, Dean.’

Dean closes his bedroom door behind him and swears gently as he knocks his head back against it. Cas doesn’t need Dean mocking him. Cas doesn’t need anything except for his friend to act like nothing has changed, because nothing has.

Dean can do that. He can be a good best friend. 

  
  


Dean is a horrible best friend, because he never thinks before he opens his horrible mouth. 

‘Morning, sunshine,’ he says out of habit when Cas appears in the kitchen for breakfast, and then swears internally, because that feels like it's flirty. 

‘You love me,’ he says with a wink after Cas rolls his eyes over something else Dean has done that’s stupid. And that definitely feels like flirting. 

And sometimes he doesn’t even say anything. Sometimes he just lets out a low whistle when Cas removes his trench coat. Like _that_ isn’t flirting. 

Dean corners Sam in one of the storage rooms, a little panicked. ‘Am I flirting with Cas?’

Sam gives him a blank look. ‘Are you what?’

‘Flirting? Like, does it seem like I’m trying to get with him,’ Dean asks, and Sam’s expression becomes measured in its emptiness. 

‘I mean, that’s just sort of how you talk to him,’ Sam says, and fuck. Fuck. Has Dean been accidentally flirting with his best friend this whole time? 

Fuck. 

‘Fuck.’

Sam frowns. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Well it wasn’t when I thought he was straight,’ Dean says, the words coming out before he catches them. ‘I just, I dunno.’

‘You just flirted nonstop with your straight best friend for years… as a joke,’ Sam clarifies, and that sounds so fucking stupid, but–

‘Yes, thank you,’ Dean says, and then cringes. ‘Not, I’m not like, against him being gay, obviously, I just think part of it was that I thought he wouldn’t flirt back so I was–it was fine, but, I dunno, does it change the dynamic?’

Sam’s frown grows, genuine confusion written on his face. ‘Do you want the dynamic to change?’ The words are said slowly, like Sam is second guessing them even as they’re coming out, and fuck if Dean doesn’t relate to that. 

‘Uh,’ Dean says, intelligent and coherent as ever, and then he leaves, because what the fuck?

He keeps himself from running from whatever Sam was asking. He stares at his shoes. He runs into someone. 

It’s Cas, because of course it is, there’s no one else there. Dean steadies himself with a hand on Cas’s shoulder, and Cas is warm and firm beneath him, and he’s looking up with surprise, and Dean can see an apology on his best friend’s mouth. 

‘Have you been working out,’ Dean blurts, because his hand is still on Cas’s shoulder and for some reason, it’s distracting.

‘Yes.’ Cas’s voice fills the hallway.

There’s a pause, and then Dean drops his hand, but not before he mumbles. ‘Nice.’ 

And then maybe he really does run.

He locks himself in his room. This… he feels guilty. An overwhelming extra guilty guilt that is usually reserved for fucking up something Sam was excited about, but not as extreme as someone dying on his watch. 

That’s it. He’s ruined something for someone he loves. 

Because has he been leading Cas on this whole time? It’s not like Cas gets laid. Has Cas been ignoring hot guys in bars because Dean keeps unintentionally leading him on? Dean’s chest aches, as he thinks about it. They’ve met so many hot dudes. Dean thinks of the attractive dudes in the bar, the ones that occasionally stare a little too long, the ones he’s caught watching him, because he’s always aware of hot people, regardless of gender. 

He thinks of Cas with any of those dudes. 

His chest aches even more. 

God, Cas should move out. 

Dean starts to feels bad. Not just guilty, but bad, all over. His shoulders twitch and his neck aches and his hands feel warm and itchy. He presses them to his face, and he’s very warm. 

‘Don’t be a dick,’ he says to himself. And then, thinking it’s too obvious for him to lock himself in his room for the rest of the day, he goes to sit in the library. 

He’s not really reading when Cas wanders in about five minutes later. 

‘Miss me already,’ Dean says, which is stupid, because he and Cas haven’t really been hanging out today, so the _already_ just sounds stupid. Because the last time they saw each other was about an hour ago when Dean groped his shoulders. 

Fuck. 

‘Dean,’ Cas says, measured and careful, and Dean looks up from the book he doesn’t remember grabbing. 

‘Yeah man?’ And that’s way too fucking casual. Dean feels like he can’t win. 

Cas is staring at him, eyes squinting ever so slightly, and Dean stares back, expectantly, squirming in his seat. ‘Yeah,’ he repeats. 

‘Are you okay,’ Cas asks finally, and that’s not really what Dean expected. He isn’t sure what he expected, maybe Cas telling him to stop acting weird, or maybe Cas was just fed up enough that he had come to tell Dean he was leaving, and fuck, maybe Dean did expect that, because he’s overwhelmed by the same awareness of Cas that he had in the car as they drove home the other night. He’s been thinking of that for a while. He watches Cas now, the tilt of his head, the question on his face, and he relaxes, just a little bit. Cas isn’t leaving. Not yet anyway. The awareness flares.

‘Yeah, I’m good,’ Dean responds, finally. ‘Why?’

‘You seem a bit worried, that’s all,’ Cas says, with a light shrug, and Dean stares at the movement of his shoulders. 

‘No, I’m good,’ Dean says again, and then goes for his most charming smile before he’s even thought it through. ‘You worried about me?’

And if Dean could kick his own ass, he would, because his voice has dropped low and he’s practically gazing up through his eyelashes, what the _fuck_. Stop. Be a better friend. 

‘Of course,’ Cas says, without hesitation, and that knocks the guilt right back into Dean’s chest, where the awareness used to sit. ‘You’re my dearest friend.’

‘Right,’ Dean says, and then clears his throat. ‘Right, yeah. Well, don’t worry, dude. I’m fine. We’re, it’s… it’s fine.’

Cas offers him a near smile and then disappears. Dean watches him go, aware of how he walks.

  
  


Dean’s gonna be a good friend. Dean’s gonna be a best friend. He can do that. He’s been doing that for years, right?

He wakes up early to make breakfast. Maybe he doesn’t sleep. That’s no one’s business. He gets up and makes coffee. And then he makes eggs and bacon and hollandaise sauce and toast and he’s about to start pancakes when Sam shuffles in with horrible bed head. 

‘Can I,’ he asks, gesturing at the plates that are piling higher and higher with food. Dean nods, wiping a finger on the towel thrown over his shoulder. 

‘Dig in,’ he offers, and Sam does. He grabs a plate and piles it high with a little bit of everything, and that relaxes Dean. His brother, hunched over the breakfast table, enjoying hot food and the newspaper he somehow gets delivered to the abandoned building. Dean pours a spare cup of coffee, sets it on the table with a pot of sugar and a spoon, and Sam grunts a sleepy thanks over his paper. He’s doing the crossword puzzle, because of course he is. Dean begins to hum as he returns to the stove and starts making pancakes. He shouldn’t feel so restless, shouldn’t ache so much. Sam is happy and healthy, he gets to take care of the people he loves, Cas is finally comfortable living his truth, and he shows no intentions of leaving. Although he might, if Dean keeps fucking up. Dean will just suck up his embarrassment and apologize for flirting with his best friend, and clarify that the unconditional love and support is still there. Then that rare occurrence of happiness won’t feel so fleeting. The ache will subside and Dean can feel better.

It’s a little while before Cas turns up. Dean’s almost finished with the pancake batter, a plate next to the stove already stacked decently high. Cas stops in the kitchen doorway and stares. 

‘Are we celebrating something,’ he asks, bleary eyed. Dean shoots a glance over his shoulder. 

‘Why, you got something to celebrate?’

And that’s not inherently flirty. Is it? Dean feels like it could be, if he tried hard enough.

That’s not the point. 

‘Just felt like cooking,’ he says finally, and Cas shuffles further into the kitchen, grabbing a mug and leaning against the counter to pour himself some coffee. ‘Thought you guys would enjoy it.’

‘Thank you,’ Cas says, automatically, and Dean aches. 

‘Yeah, I just, I want you to feel appreciated, and stuff,’ he continues, can’t say why he’s continuing, probably the sleep deprivation. ‘Like, you’re my best friends and my favorite people and I want you to feel loved.’

‘That’s very sweet, Dean,’ Cas says, and this isn’t automatically, and Dean looks over at him, really looks. 

At his best friend. Hip leaning against the counter, pajama shirt rucked up against the band of his sweatpants. His ever squinting eyes squinting at Dean, looking somewhat amused, like he can see something Dean can’t. He takes a sip of coffee, and his eyes disappear for a moment.

Fuck, Dean needs to be a better friend. That’s the last thought he has before his dumb fucking mouth opens up, and some sleep deprived offer of support and acceptance comes out as, ‘You can fuck me if you want, you know that right?’

‘What the fuck,’ Sam says from where he’s seated, fork scraping against the plate, and Dean barely hears it, because Cas has gone very still, watching him over his raised coffee mug. 

Dean opens his mouth to take it back. Finds that he can’t find the words. And this is all so stupid, he can say so much without even realizing it, but the _one time_ he needs to actually say something to Cas, his mind goes blank. 

Dean tries again. Opens his mouth. And then Cas beats him to it. 

‘Thank you.’ 

It’s said slowly, like Cas didn’t hear what Dean said, and is too embarrassed to ask him to repeat himself, but Cas definitely heard what he said, because Cas won’t stop staring at him with these wide blue eyes that are still seeing more in Dean than he’s ever seen in himself. 

‘Okay,’ Dean says, and tosses the kitchen towel from his shoulder onto the counter and walks out of the kitchen and back to his room. 

He takes a shaky breath. He sits on his bed.

That. 

That was incredibly fucking stupid. 

And he couldn’t even _take it back_. 

Cas doesn’t come looking for him. Maybe Cas, all knowing Cas, saw the stupidity of the statement for what it was, an offer of support, and _oh my god, you can fuck me if you want_. 

Dean puts his head in his hands. 

Then he stands up and paces. He’s still wearing an apron, doesn’t remember putting it on this morning, he’s so fucking tired, he should take a nap, he feels like he’s on fire, he paces and paces and paces. 

_If you want._

_You_ can fuck _me_.

 _You can_ fuck _me_.

 _If you want_. 

Dean takes another deep breath. Maybe Cas doesn’t want. Maybe Cas hasn’t been reading into all the stupid flirty jokes Dean makes, because he thinks of them as jokes. Maybe Cas isn’t interested in him like that. 

Dean thinks, and paces, and gets annoyed. He’s hot. Guys check him out just as much as girls. Cas should like him, especially if Dean has been flirting as much as he thinks he has. Cas should want him.

Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe Dean isn’t his type. 

Dean aches. 

Eventually, after about two hours of sitting and panicking in his room, he decides to go for a drive, and decides to make a grocery list, because why not, it gives him something else to think about. He grabs a spare piece of paper and a pen and scribbles down a bunch of random things. The basics. Most of what he went through making breakfast this morning. Sam’s favorite vegetables. Cas’s favorite sweet and salty popcorn, the stuff he likes to eat during movie nights. 

Dean doesn’t even think about it. 

He shrugs on a coat, does up his shoes. He pats his pockets to ensure he has his wallet. His keys are in the kitchen. He heads for them, not thinking about the absolutely mortifying experience he had in there. He’s only thinking about how he’s going to get the best produce, because that’s what he likes, and how if he’s early enough, the bakery will have a good pastry or two left. He hasn’t had breakfast, after all. 

Cas and Sam are still in the kitchen. Well, maybe still isn’t the right word. Sam’s no longer eating, and he’s changed out of his pajamas, but he’s making a new pot of coffee. Cas is doing the dishes. 

Fuck Dean feels bad. First he possibly, probably, unknowingly leads the dude on for twelve years, and then leaves him to wash the dishes. _Be a better friend, Dean_ , he said to himself, like an idiot. He feels bad. 

He’s grabbing his keys when Cas says, ‘Do you want me to?’

And Dean’s so focused on his keys and his guilt that his brain doesn’t understand what Cas is saying right away, and his mouth opens, and he knows what Cas is asking now, but he’s already asking, ‘What?’

And then he has to hear Cas say, ‘Do you want me to fuck you.’ Like it isn’t a question. Like he’s even _allowed_ to say that. Like it doesn’t make Dean’s whole body tense, warm his face, his chest, his hands, make his mouth go dry to keep him from answering straight away. In the moment it takes for him to get his voice back, Sam lets out a tired and somewhat strained, ‘Oh my god,’ and walks away without coffee or cup, disappearing somewhere into the bunker where he doesn’t have to listen to this conversation. Dean wishes he could follow. 

Dean wishes he could say anything. Wishes he could speak without thinking, the way he normally does. Instead, he stares at Cas, elbow deep in the sink, watching Dean with a careful and controlled expression. Dean scrambles for an answer, and, because he’s still sleep deprived, says, ‘I’m going to the grocery store.’

Cas frowns, because that doesn’t make sense. Dean has to make it make sense 

And so, because he’s stupid, and doesn’t think, despite trying really hard, he says, ‘So…not? right? now?’

God that’s. 

Not what he meant to say. 

But he can’t bring himself to say anything else. 

Cas stares. Dean stares back. 

‘Okay,’ Cas says with a nod, and then Dean scoops up his keys and goes to the garage, like they’ve reached an agreement. 

Fuck did they reach an agreement?

Dean’s escape grocery store run does not feel like an escape. He feels very jittery the whole time. He doesn’t get a pastry. He doesn’t feel hungry. He doesn’t feel like he’s rushing home, but he gets back to the bunker a lot sooner than he intended to. He told himself he was gonna take the long way, but–

Dean is suddenly impatient. 

He gets inside. The kitchen is empty. He unloads the groceries. 

And in the time it takes him to unload, he’s back to panicking. 

He doesn’t find Cas. He goes and sits in his room with his hands under his thighs. He thinks about Cas in his car, in the kitchen, checking up on him. Buying him popcorn. Cas doing the dishes. And then he gets mad at himself and goes to find Cas. 

Cas is in the library, leaning over a table of books. There’s about eight of them open on the table, none of them the center of attention. Dean knocks on the edge of the door frame as he approaches, which feels stupid. 

It’s all so stupid. 

Cas starts and turns, and he’s no longer in his pajamas. His trenchcoat is thrown over a chair, as is his sports coat. Dean notices his shoulders. It’s all so stupid. 

‘Do you want to,’ Dean asks, and Cas quirks an eyebrow, and Dean thinks Cas knows what he’s talking about. He’s gotta. 

‘Fuck me,’ Dean clarifies, after a moment, just in case, and Cas cycles through about eight facial expressions at once. Dean’s pretty sure one of them is desire. Maybe he hopes one is. 

‘Yes,’ Cas says, and it’s that same business tone, that same removed acknowledgement of the situation that doesn’t actually admit to any feelings. 

Dean chides himself, in the silence that follows. They are just talking about fucking. He knows better than most that that doesn’t require feelings. 

But he still aches.

‘Okay,’ Dean says, squeezes his hands into fists, releases them. ‘Okay.’ 

And if Cas wants to fuck? Fine. They’ll fuck. It’s the least Dean can do, stringing the dude along, blue balling him for who knows how long, Dean can help Cas get it out of his system, because Dean is a good friend. 

And because he’s still sleep deprived as hell, before he knows what he’s doing, before he’s fully finalized the thought of _I’m actually going to let Cas fuck me_ , he’s advancing towards his best friend in the middle of the library. 

But it’s then, _then_ , that Cas gets a wild expression on his face. A slight panic, a wide eyed surprise, and Dean’s very close now, and the only thing stopping him from literally making out with his best friend is a hand on his chest. 

‘Wait,’ Cas says, and Dean does, because he’s not an asshole, and also because he’s kind of glad. He said he would let Cas fuck him, because he’s a good friend, so that should make things even between them, and despite seemingly resolving that, he’s still aching all over. 

They are very close. Cas can definitely feel Dean’s heart thundering under his palm. Maybe he can feel the ache, too. Dean feels it, now, intensely, radiating from where Cas’s palm rests against him. 

‘Wait,’ Cas says again, like they aren’t already frozen. His face is still surprised, but there’s something growing underneath it. Some sort of shame, or humiliation, something Dean didn’t expect. 

And then he says, ‘I– I don’t want–’

And Dean backs away instantly. 

Or tries to. He doesn’t want to push Cas, doesn’t want him out of the bunker because it’s too awkward to remain, doesn’t want him out with other people, doesn’t want Cas to go where he isn’t, and that means not pushing, Dean’s learned that the hard way, so he tries to back away. 

But Cas grabs his hand before he can get very far. And Cas stares at that touch, with wide eyes that ache. Then he says, very quietly, ‘Not… not like this.’

That’s. 

That’s possibility. 

Dean doesn’t back away. They stand in the library, Cas holding his hand, and they both stare at that touch. Cas strokes the back of Dean’s hand with his thumb, and then says, ‘I don’t want to… just fuck you.’

Cas looks up, and Dean sees his own ache echoed back at him.

Dean has never really vocalized it, because he thinks it’s kind of embarrassing, but he loves romance films. The cheesy rom coms that always have some dramatic moment, some fight between the leads or some conflict that keeps them from realizing the reality of their love. And then one, one beautiful charming lead has a moment where they stare in a mirror or sit on a bus or walk the city streets and think _Oh it’s them_.

Standing in the library, staring at Cas, holding his hand, Dean thinks _Oh_. 

_Oh._

They stare at each other for another moment and then Cas, with an ounce of hesitation, says, ‘You can kiss me if you want, you know that right?’

‘Do you want me to,’ Dean asks, with a mirrored ounce of hesitation. Cas is nodding before Dean has finished asking, so Dean uses his free hand to cup Cas’s face and kisses him. 

And it’s not the make out he intended to initiate with his best friend. It’s not anything like what he usually has with people he intends to hook up with. But as the ache settles itself in his bones, only flaring when he pulls back to breathe, he finds this is a whole lot better. So they kiss, and they’re still holding hands, and they kiss, and Cas puts his free hand on Dean’s hip, and they kiss, and Cas is leaning back against the table because Dean’s actually getting into this. And the ache settles and settles, and they kiss, and hands rest on faces and shoulders and hips. And then, finally, as they break to breathe, Cas asks in all seriousness, ‘Were you going to have me fuck you in the library?’

‘God I hope not,’ a voice says, and Dean turns so quickly and abruptly that he loses his balance and Cas tightens the grip he already has on Dean’s waist. 

And Sam is standing at the doorway with an expression that is equal parts amused and exasperated. ‘Get a room.’

The hands that are already tight on Dean’s waist grip even tighter, and that is incredibly thrilling. Whatever has become of the ache flashes through all of him, hot and comforting and very exciting, and he turns back to Cas with raised eyebrows. 

‘We will,’ Cas says, and there is a certain smugness to his voice, and Dean is at once embarrassed and pleased. Sam makes a disgusted sound and disappears, apparently only passing by to become an accidental witness, and Dean smiles, and can’t stop. He leans against Cas, more then he already had been, and tucks his face into Cas’s neck. 

‘That bartender thought we were dating,’ he says, the revelation hitting him all at once. Cas laughs, and Dean feels it in all of him. 

‘You do flirt with me a lot,’ he says, and Dean pulls back, blushing. 

‘I’m really sorry,’ he says, and Cas looks mildly surprised by the sincerity in Dean’s voice. ‘I really shouldn’t have been so pushy with that stuff, it wasn’t even that funny and I–’

‘It’s okay,’ Cas reassures him. ‘I like it.’

‘Yeah, but it probably felt like I was leading you on–’

‘This is you leading me on,’ Cas asks, deadpan, pressing their foreheads together. 

‘Obviously not,’ Dean huffs, and then Cas kisses him, because he can, because he wants to, because Dean wants him to. Dean kisses back. 

‘You have a long time to make it up to me,’ Cas reassures him when they break, and Dean pulls back far enough to search his eyes. 

‘Yeah?’

Simple question. The possibility of the answer making his heart beat faster. Cas smiles, and he is entirely confident when he says, ‘Yeah.’

There is the offer to be better. The encouragement. The time. The chance. 

Dean takes it. 


End file.
